Getting Her Irish On
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: " 'Ow is it dat a nice Irish lass like yerself doesn't know Gaelic?" Immediately follows 'Unlimited Blue'. Pam and Murphy have a beer. Probably could be rated 'T', but the rest of the arc is 'M'. Murphy / Pam


_A/N - figured we'd need a little background before I go further on 'To the Bone'. This takes place after 'Unlimited Blue'. You don't need to read it (but I highly reccomend it because it's pretty good). The last paragraphs from it are included here and will set you up. This has been sitting on my hard drive for a while so I thought I'd share. Enjoy!_

_Oh, and I AM on twitter if you'd like to follow - reeduffery._

* * *

(_From Unlimited Blue)_

"Feck," Connor muttered at the same time. He stroked in and out of her once. "M'not gonna last much longer," he huffed. Holding her one hand steady, the knot had left him just enough slack on the other hand to turn it (albeit at a strange angle) and press his thumb against the tighter of her two holes. He sank in a fraction of an inch and felt Pam's body shudder beneath him. "Ye got a handle on that pretty little clit o'yers?" he purred darkly.

She bit the inside of her cheek and squeezed her eyes shut as her fingertips found first the barbell and then the distended nub of her clit. She rubbed it between her first two fingers and wailed underneath him, thrashing with pleasure. The fact that he was breaching her anus just made her head turn to mush. Tears leaked out from behind her eyelids.

"I'll take dat as a yes," he said before snapping his hips back into her.

A sob tore from her throat on the first stroke. Hot and cold flashed down her thighs to her toes and curled there as she concentrated on nothing save for the stabbing pleasurable stretch of Connor's cock, the teasing burn of his thumb, and the itching tingle of her clit. Her breathing became frantic and later she'd blush from the looks she got from her neighbours, but right then, as Connor fucked her into the mattress, she howled, coming completely undone.

"Fuck, _YES_!" he cried. "Ah, Christ, lass, m'goin' te…" he hissed, sucking air into his lungs as he heaved behind her, and jammed into her rapidly. Faster, and then faster still, his hips snapped, and the sound of flesh against flesh was drowned out only by their collective moaning. He barrelled down the tracks to his finish, and came to a screaming halt. He froze, his hips snapping up into her, hers smashing back into his, and he cried out hoarsely, "_Sin ceart agat cailin beag salach!_" and came in a blazing torrent.

* * *

_One Month Later_

"Murphy."

"Pamela."

She slid onto the stool next to Connor's brother and flagged down Doc's day bartender, ordering a beer. Side by side, she and Murphy drank silently, but from the corner of her eye, she could see Murphy's knee begin to bounce. He was agitated; he fiddled with his lighter for a few seconds and then drummed his fingers on the bar.

"You all right?"

"M'fine," he muttered. Truth be told, he was a little uneasy around Pam these days. She'd somehow managed to move Connor from sharing everything with Murphy to being home only a few nights a week. Sure, they still saw each other at work and they drank together in the evenings, but as of late, Murphy was finding that when it was time to sleep, the loft was too empty to do so comfortably.

"Okay," Pam said softly, taking another sip of beer. She'd started feeling hostility coming from Murphy about three weeks after she and Connor hooked up. It was unfortunate, really – she actually got along with Murphy rather well, and she thought he liked her, too. But lately, he was short with her, mincing his words, forcing conversation, and pouting when Connor turned his attention to her for too long. She wasn't about to come between brothers, but she felt like she had a right to say something.

The silence between them grew heavier with every passing second.

"Can I get anudder?" Murphy called out to the bartender, pushing his empty glass away.

"Same here," Pam added after swallowing the dregs.

"Ye tryin' t'keep up wit' me, girl?" Murphy mumbled around a cigarette.

"Not if I value my liver, no."

Murphy had to chuckle at that. "Yer Irish," he pointed out.

"Yes," Pam agreed. "But that doesn't mean I have to fall into every single Irish stereotype."

"Ye callin' me a stereotype, now? Ye really know how to flatter a guy."

She sighed, and thanked the bartender for her new beer. "I didn't say that. But you have to admit that you and Connor seem rather fresh off the boat for a couple of guys who have lived here for, what, five years?"

"Seven," Murphy corrected. He finally turned to her, beer in one hand and smoking cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth. "An' what de ye mean?"

Pam smiled as Murphy's mouth turned up into a small grin. "Oh, come _on_! Ya both have obviously Irish names, though I'm surprised one of ya isn't named Seamus or Sean…ya both have a brogue wider than the Irish Sea, ya speak Gaelic like ya made up the language, ya think Guinness is a food group, and either of ya will start a fight – or finish one – at the drop of a hat!"

Murphy snorted and blew smoke from his nostrils. Leaning an elbow on the bar, he got into Pam's space and held a finger towards her. "Now you wait right there, girl. If m'not mistaken, yer last name is _Leary_. Now, granted, Pamela isn't a common Irish name fer a lass, but Connor told me straight up that yer middle name is _Shannon_. Ya go ta St. Michaels' cathedral, yer Da was born in Coill Dubh, I 'ave it on good aut-o-rit-y dat yer brogue is jus' as tick when ya drink too much. Ya know how to play the penny whistle and you'll eat any'ting dat involves a po-_tay_-toe!"

Pam stared wide-eyed at Murphy's rant. When he was finished, he took a healthy swig of beer and grinned, beer foam and all. Pam couldn't help but laugh and soon, Murphy joined her.

He lit another cigarette and motioned for another round. " 'Ow is it dat a nice Irish girl like yerself doesn't know Gaelic?"

Pam shrugged. "It never really stuck with me. I know how to say all the basics: _Dia duit, slan, go raibh maith agat, ait a bhfuil an seomra folctha_… but now I wish I'd paid more interest when my uncle tried to teach me."

Murphy cocked a curious brow. "Yer uncle…_Seamus_?"

Pam scowled and took a swig of beer.

Murphy laughed and shook his head. "Yer a right precious girl. I can see why Connor likes ya so much. An if it's Gaelic yer wantin' ta know, me and Conn can teach ya."

She shrugged. "I just want to know what said Conn that first night."

"Oh?" The darker twin's interest was piqued. "Dis sounds interestin'. Tell me, what did me brudder say ta ya?"

Pam paused and made a face. "I don't quite remember…" she shut her eyes, her lips moving as she tried to recall the Gaelic that Connor had spouted off as he rocketed into orbit. "I think it was something like '_sin ceart ta tu cailin beag salach._'" She opened her eyes to look at Murphy expectantly.

Murphy paused with his beer halfway to his mouth and felt the blood rush up his neck to his ears. He shook his head rapidly. "No way," he firmly refused.

"Oh, come on!" Pam cajoled. "Please? Tell me? I'll buy you another round?"

Murphy winced, and took a gulp of beer, still shaking his head.

"If you won't tell me, I'll just ask me Grandma."

He promptly spit out said mouthful of beer in a shower that garnered a warning yelp from the bartender. "_No!_" he choked, sputtering and wiping his chin at the same time. "Christ, girl, ya can't say that to yer _Grandma_!"

"Oh?" Pam leaned forward on her stool, her green and gold eyes bright with intrigue. "It must be good, then. Is it dirty? Was Conn talkin' dirty to me in Gaelic?"

Murphy made a face but in his gut he knew it to be true. Connor had a way with words, while Murphy tended to be reserved more to actions, and while Murphy only had one language when it came to using his body, Connor was fluent in five and knew all the right things to say to make a girl weak in the knees. He glanced at Pam who was eagerly balanced on the edge of her seat, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ," he muttered.

"Lord's name!" Pam scolded brightly. "C'mon, Murphy don't tell me you're embarrassed… you boys _never_ get embarrassed. At least, I've never seen it before." She watched Murphy squirm a bit more. "Wow, you're really uncomfortable right now, aren't you?"

Murphy didn't know how to proceed. If it were any other girl, he would have told her and not given it a second thought. This was different. This was _Pam_. The woman he was pretty certain his brother was in love with. He'd see her after this, no doubt for some time. God above forbid that Connor marry her – wait. Now _that_ was too extreme. Connor would never get married. At least, he _figured_ Connor would never get married.

"You're scaring me, Murph," Pam piped up hesitantly. "Tell me what he said."

Murphy squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "He said, 'Thas' right, ya dirty little girl.'"

Pam gaped and felt her cheeks heat. "Oh," she murmured, quickly looking down at the bar.

Murphy watched her squirm. "Ya don't really strike me as the type of lass that would be embarrassed by this."

She forced a smile, but refused to look anywhere but at her glass. She held her thumb and forefinger apart about half an inch. "Little bit." She bit her lips and dared to steal a glimpse of Murphy.

His face was red, too, but for a different reason. As she took in his shaking shoulders and the smile he was fighting to keep in check, Pam realized that he was trying not to laugh – and doing a piss poor job of it, too.

She sighed and waved her hand. "Go ahead."

Murphy burst out laughing, howling loudly, his grin splitting his face as he wiped at his eyes. "M'sorry," he choked, before dissolving into a fit of giggles. "But it's funny."

Pam huffed and smacked Murphy on the shoulder. "It is _not_." She _tried_ to sound indignant, but it didn't really work. "Okay," she groused. "It's _kind of_ funny."

"He's never gonna live it down," Murphy mused.

"No!" Pam squeaked, making the bartender suddenly glance down the bar at the pair. She flashed a weak smile. "No," she repeated, at a more reasonable volume. "God, Connor will _kill_ me if he finds out I told you!"

"Well, why else would he have said it in Gaelic?"

"I don't think he thought I'd ask you," Pam pointed out. "And honestly, guys say all sorts of things when they…well…when they _you know_," and she made a vague gesture.

Murphy snickered again and lit another cigarette. "Oh, is that right? M'fairly certain the only tings I've said when I…_you know_, are 'yes, god, ah, jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, yee haw…"

"_Yee haw_?" Pam drawled.

"I was in Texas," Murphy explained.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you've said a few things you're not aware of. Believe me. I've heard 'please, Mommy, more; yee gads, holy Toledo, Elvis lives, Great Scott, and my personal favourite: I'm arriving."

"Eh…" Murphy frowned. "_Arriving_?"

"He was English."

Murphy scowled and shook his heads. "Fuckin' Englishmen."

"Aye," Pam agreed, lifting her glass.

Murphy lifted his, and they clinked their glasses together before drinking deeply.

"So," Murphy said after a bit. "Ye gonna let me teach ya Gaelic?"

Pam glanced sidelong at him. "Maybe. But I think we should keep it from Connor. It will totally fuck with him."

"He'll probably kill me fer it, but…I'm in," Murphy grinned. "Now then, where would ye like ta start?"

* * *

_Dia duit, slan, go raibh maith agat, ait a bhfuil an seomra folctha_ : Hello, goodbye, thank you, where is the bathroom


End file.
